My Son
by Howling1
Summary: J.D. is working the night shift when he starts seeing things. At least, he thinks he's seeing them. He's not really sure. All he's sure of is that there's this dark, scary teenage kid telling him that he's what his son will look like in a few years. R&R!
1. My Night Shift

**A/N**: So Scrubs is totally kicking butt this season. It wasn't that I disliked the last couple of years; I'm just glad to see them shift towards slightly more realistic things this time around. And then I got to wondering whether they'd do another of those episodes where one character can see someone who the other characters can't. (For Dr. Cox, it was Ben; for Carla, it was Laverne.) Both episodes were very good and very sad. Anyway, I'm not trying to do the exact same thing here, but it's got a similar basic idea.

**Disclaimer:** Scrubs belongs to Bill Lawrence and probably always will, and I'm just a simple little college kid with big dreams. I've always wanted to say that.

* * *

_Ever since Dr. Cox became Chief of Medicine, for some reason I've been getting stuck with a lot of night shifts._

"All right, Mister Harris, I'm just going to head on down to the lab for your results, and then we'll be able to get you into surgery for your arm." J.D. flipped through his patient's chart, made a few quick notes, then tossed it back into its slot on the end of the bed. "Is there anyone we should contact in the meantime who'd also want to know? We can do so immediately, if necessary."

Mister Harris stared at him from the bed. "It's four in the morning."

"Health waits for no man, mister," J.D. said cheekily. "So there's no one?"

"Just one," Harris said, "My boyfriend, David." He indicated a bag with his belongings that had been brought in, pointing to a cell phone with his hand. "The number should be in there."

J.D. promptly opened his bag and scooped out the cell phone, dialing the appropriate number after he found it in the phonebook.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other end.

"What's _up_, girlfriend!" J.D. shouted airily. "Are we feelin' _fab_ this morning?"

* * *

"You have no idea how to talk to gay people, do you?" asked Carla as she shook her head, flipping through a stack of medical papers. "You'd think you would; you're practically one of them anyway."

"Okay, I knew you had to make that joke, so now that you have, we can move on," sighed J.D. as he rubbed his forehead. "Guess I'm just tired. Which reminds me; what are you doing here this early?"

"Oh, I owed one of the nurses a favor," Carla shrugged. "What with Dr. Cox screwing up the schedule last week, Barbara almost missed her kickboxing lesson again."

"She takes kickboxing at four in the morning?" J.D. asked in disbelief.

"Well, when do _you_ find time to get in a workout?" Carla countered.

* * *

"_Come on," J.D. gasped, wheezing, as he stretched his arms. "Come on, Dr. Dorian! You are a superstar; you can do this!"_

"_Are you trying to reach the cookie jar again without getting up from the couch?" asked Elliot, walking into the room. "Yup, you are."_

"_I don't see why I bought you that if you're going to keep putting it just out of reach!" J.D. exclaimed, noting that the jar was bolted to the table._

_Elliot sat down next to him and poked his belly teasingly. "Why do you think I let you buy it, stud?"_

_J.D. smirked. "Oh, c'mere," he said, slinging an arm around Elliot's shoulders. Elliot laughed and leaned into it, but J.D.'s gaze drifted back to the cookie jar, which was shaped like a little teddy bear._

"_Dorian's got a beer belly!" the jar suddenly shouted at him mockingly, and J.D. blanched. Turning to Elliot, he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything —_

"_If you're going to ask if it's just you or is the cookie jar talking again, it's just you," Elliot said without looking up._

* * *

"I manage," J.D. said finally.

Carla smirked and turned around. J.D. didn't like her look; Elliot must have told her everything. "I'll be back with the X-rays in a moment, _stud_," she said as she sauntered off.

"Hey, Doctor Dorian, are we done here?" came a voice, and J.D. turned around to see Denise walking blearily up to him, adjusting the back of her pants rather ... interestingly. "I'm kinda itching to get out of here, otherwise I may have to kill something to make me feel better."

"Hey, Denise," said Howie, passing her. Denise promptly screamed at the top of her lungs in his direction, causing him to fall over and the rather large stack of paperwork he had been carrying to fly into the air; most of it fell on Howie's head.

"Oh, god, there's a paper cut on my eyelid!" came the voice from the floor.

J.D. stared at Howie for a long time, before looking back up at Denise and saying calmly, "Okay, well, I'll just be sending you home then, Jo." He looked back down. "Come on, Howie, get up! This is a hospital. You'll be fine."

"No ... no, wait ... I think the paper cut was actually on my eye!" Howie exclaimed from the floor.

"Suck it up, wimp," Denise said blandly, stepping over him on her way out the door.

* * *

J.D. was so busy looking at his watch (it was now 5 A.M. — only five hours until he could go home) that he didn't notice the Janitor standing in the hallway until the two of them crashed into each other. Well, J.D. crashed into the Janitor; the Janitor just kind of stood there.

"Ow," J.D. said, doing an awkward kind of box step to recover.

"You know, every time that happens it's _you_ that's not looking where _you're_ going," the Janitor observed. "What would happen if I started to do that? Huh? What do you think?"

J.D. raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't know. Hopefully you'd fall out a window."

The Janitor laughed, shortly and humorlessly. "I thought you'd say something like that. Something _mean_ and vengeful. Which is why I chose the one hallway in the hospital that has a slight downward slant, and then positioned my Janitor's Cart at one end, approximately thirty seconds ago."

"What do you—" J.D. started, but was cut off as the Janitor stepped aside, revealing said cart, which had now picked up significant speed and crashed into J.D., who was thrown to one side, where his back hit the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

"Cart, one; S.D., nothing," the Janitor said lightly.

J.D. squinted at him, confused. "It's J.D."

"No it's not. It's S.D. Stands for Stupid Doctor."

J.D. rolled his eyes and walked off. Janitor watched him go with his usual cocky smirk, until he heard a large crashing sound. "Hey! Doctor Beardface! Don't go into battle with Moppy; he always wins!" he shouted, chasing after the cart.

* * *

_At any rate, given that I'd been here since three a.m., and Turk, Elliot and Dr. Cox weren't due to show up until nine, I had very little that I could be doing other than waiting on patients._

"You're tapping a pencil against a jar again, hon," Shirley (whom J.D. liked to call Lavernagain) noted dubiously. "I keep tellin' you, that thing that happened with Doctor Cox ain't gonna be happenin' again."

"Yeah, but how _cool_ was it?" J.D. said, not stopping the tapping. "It was like everything just turned into music all at once! Like when we treated that patient who thought we were singing."

"One can only imagine what y'all must have sounded like to her," Shirley shrugged, turning back to her paperwork.

"I wish I could have heard it," J.D. said, before he noticed his ringtone — a song he'd found called "Guy Love" — going off in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open; the caller I.D. said it was Elliot. "Hello?"

"J.D., the next time you have a night shift, could you please not leave your pajamas clumped up in your spot in the bed?" Elliot said in her usual "stressed" voice. "I was spooning your pants for an hour before I realized that you weren't in them."

"Well, then I'll be looking forward to putting those puppies on tonight," J.D. said, quite smoothly he thought.

"I threw them in the wash," Elliot said without missing a beat. J.D.'s knees buckled and he grabbed onto the counter to keep himself from falling. _Not fair! _"Anyway, J.D., I'll see you in a few."

"Okay. Have fun on your jog." J.D. paused. "Love you."

Elliot laughed. "You, too, you dork," she said before hanging up.

"Awww," came Carla's voice from behind J.D. "You guys are saying 'I love you' again! Must be really serious this time."

"Talk it to death all you want; the 'Jelliot' ship has firmly sailed," J.D. said, ignoring Carla's funny look as he took the X-rays. "Thank you."

Carla shrugged and started to leave, but J.D. stopped her. "Carla, wait," he said as he looked at the X-rays, "these aren't Mister Harris's; they belong to ... a mister Nicholas?"

"Oh," Carla said, taking them back. "Sorry about that, J.D.; I must have gotten these mixed up."

"Well, no problem; it's early." J.D. looked concerned as Carla put the X-rays back in their sleeve. "What happened to that guy? Looks pretty serious."

"He was in a drunk-driving accident," Carla said somberly.

J.D.'s voice was heavy. "He wasn't the one who was drunk, was he?"

Carla shook her head. "Another driver rammed into him from the passenger's side." J.D. sighed and bit his lip as Carla continued, "He's in critical condition; he has a punctured lung, a ruptured spleen and who knows how many broken bones. He's out of surgery for now, but..." She trailed off. "They're not sure he'll stay out for long."

"Why aren't you rushing to get those down there, then?" J.D. asked.

"These are from earlier," Carla said. "Which means that he doesn't look as bad now." She paused. "But it's not much of an improvement."

J.D. patted her shoulder. "Well, if you see him when he wakes up, tell him that the old J-Dawg is rootin' for him."

Carla nodded and headed back to the intensive care unit. J.D. watched her go. _As I watched Carla leaving, I realized that even though all of us assume, again and again, that we can't be affected by the patients anymore, the truth is that—_

"The old J-Dawg," came a new, unfamiliar voice that interrupted J.D.'s train of thought. "That's the best that you could come up with?"

J.D. turned around, very slowly. What he saw astonished him: Sitting on the nurse's counter, one leg propped up on it while the other swung idly, was a boy in his late teens, dressed all in black and sporting several piercings in his nose and ears. His short hair was also black, but it looked dyed; J.D. could see the real light brown color coming in through the roots. Stranger still, he was clutching a large bottle that simply said "LIQUOR" across the front, and every now and then he would take a swig from it while looking at J.D. His eyes were dark, and haunting, but they seemed strangely familiar all the same.

"Well, you gonna stare all day, or what?" the boy asked.

It seemed to take J.D. longer than usual to form a sentence; when he did, it was jumbled. "How did you get in — who are you?"

The boy jumped off the counter with a flourish, tossing the liquor bottle aside. "I'll answer the second question, but not the first. My name is Sam."

J.D. gave a half-smile. "Sam. That's a good name you got there. My son—"

"Yeah," the boy said, leaning on the counter, "I know all about myself, thanks, _Dad._"

It took J.D. several more seconds to process this. Or, more accurately, fail to process it. "What?"

The boy gave an exaggerated, dramatic sigh. "I always have to spell these things out for you. You know that little baby you have over at that blond whore's house? Yeah. I'm what he's gonna look like in seventeen years."

J.D. just stared.

_Oh, no._


	2. My Revenge

_What in God's name is going on?_

J.D. was deliberately staring straight ahead as he walked down the hallway, not even daring to look next to him, where he knew that his son — _How can he be my son? He's eighteen!_ — or, rather, the kid that claimed to be his son, was following him.

"Hey." The kid poked J.D. in the shoulder as the two of them kept walking. "Hey. Dad. You should look at me."

"And why would I do that?" J.D. asked lowly, not taking his eyes off of the corridor, still staring straight ahead.

"Because if you don't, then I'll do this," said the kid, and he stuck his foot out in front of J.D.'s. The doctor was promptly sent tumbling to the floor with his usual yell of "Whoa!" and landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him (again). Whoever that kid was, he _seemed_ very real, at least for now. His foot proved that, at any rate.

"Hah!" came a voice from down the hall. "Nice one! Who did that?"

As J.D. stood, he looked up to see the Janitor approaching him again, wearing a look of unmistakable delight as he watched J.D. rub his ribs in pain. "Somebody tripped you. Where are they? I wanna buy them a coffee. Or give 'em a stuffed squirrel. Something."

J.D. pointed to Sam, who waved.

The Janitor's eyes followed J.D.'s finger, then went back to J.D. "...Okay. Is there some kind of pointing phenomenon I'm unaware of at this point? Or do you just think I'm stupid?"

"He did it!" J.D. said, pointing to Sam again, who was waving merrily and doing a bit of a jig in place.

"Who did it?" the Janitor asked, getting annoyed.

"Sam!"

"Sam, your kid? Sam isn't even a year old."

"You mean you can't—"

"What kind of name is that anyway?" the Janitor continued, cutting off J.D. Beside him, Sam's eyes suddenly narrowed. "_Sam_. If it were my kid I would've given him a nice, practical name! Like, oh, I dunno ... Flurkle. Or Jopstein. Or Qwerty."

"Those aren't real names, are they," J.D. said, resignedly.

"I just now made them up," the Janitor shrugged. "But listen. Apparently you're tripping yourself now, and I can't have that. It just isn't right."

"Because you want to have the pleasure of tripping me all to yourself."

"That is correct_,_" the Janitor said with a mocking smile, clapping his hands on J.D.'s shoulders. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then didn't, and the two of them just stood there like that for a second, with Sam watching it all with an eyebrow raised.

"Why aren't you moving?" J.D. finally asked.

The Janitor just shrugged again. "I may have put Super Glue on my hands," he said.

J.D. rolled his eyes. "Of course you did..."

* * *

Several wrestling matches, two tears of fabric, and one change of clothes later, J.D. was strolling back down the hallway with a murderous look and with a dark blue shirt that didn't match the rest of his scrubs. Behind him, the Janitor was experimenting with his new toy, wrapping the shirt around his hands, pretending to clothesline people with it, and seeing how far it could stretch. J.D. wondered how he was eventually going to get it off, but then again, he was the Janitor. He probably had something in mind.

"Well, that was interesting," Sam said lightly from his place beside J.D. "Shoot, who needs reality TV when you have this?"

"Why can't anyone else see you?" J.D. said shortly, still not looking at him.

"Hello? I'm _your_ son. That means I'm _your_ responsibility, not anyone else's."

"Yeah, well, I don't even know why you're here. It's Kim's night to watch you. And she is _not_ a blond whore." J.D. paused. "She is just blond."

Sam snorted. "_Watch_ me? Are you kidding? I'm eighteen, Daddy-o." (_Daddy-o?_ J.D. thought.) "I can take care of myself." He suddenly tilted his head up as he walked — _Just like his dad_, J.D. thought automatically — and he seemed to be thinking about something. "Well, there's an ironic statement."

"How is that ironic?" J.D. asked, utterly lost by now.

"Well, because I'm gonna be in a car crash in a couple of days. A fatal one."

J.D. stopped walking, finally turning to look at Sam. Sam, his expression normal, leaned against the doorway they had halted in, looking at J.D. as he fiddled with something in his hands.

"You ... what?"

"Oh, wait, wait," Sam said, with the look of someone who's just remembered a hilarious story. "I didn't tell you the best part. Guess who's the doctor who ends up treating me?" He doubled over with laughter, a very strange contrast to his words. "_You_ are! Yup, Dad, despite everything you try, you'll be unable to save me and you'll get to watch me die, just after my eighteenth birthday. Isn't that just _great?_"

He finally looked up, still wheezing with silent laughter, and seemed darkly amused by J.D.'s shocked, unbelieving expression. "What's the matter, Dad?" Sam asked. "You never treated a brain-dead patient before?"

J.D. took a step back, and in that moment, something in his demeanor changed. He seemed to wake up from something, and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Gradually, a smile dawned on J.D's face, and Sam's expression changed to one of confusion.

"You're not real," J.D. said finally, still smiling, and he raised his hands in a "back off" gesture. "You're not real! So there's no reason I should listen to a single word you say. The Janitor couldn't see you, and you said no one can, so I can just ignore you and focus on getting through my morning alive."

"Or I _could_ be real," Sam said darkly, "and I'm just messing with you. Maybe I even got the Janitor to go along with it. You know him; anything to screw you over."

Doubt began to enter J.D.'s mind, and he shook his head again, beyond confused by now. In front of him, Sam paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Ya know, Dad, you never stand up to that guy. Why is that?"

J.D. seemed surprised by the question. "I've stood up to him before!"

"Really? You locked him in a freezer. Compared to how he's done about a million other things to you, I'd say that barely even counts."

"What, you're suggesting revenge?" J.D. asked, astonished. How could this be his son?

"I'm suggesting that you show him that you're not a person to be messed with. If revenge is the way to go about that, then," Sam shrugged, "well, who am I to stop you?"

"Okay, look," J.D. said, bringing a hand down on a nearby counter, "let's get something straight here. Okay? We Dorians are a _trusting_ people. We are a _forgiving_ people. We always see the best in _everyone_, whether it includes a close friend or, yes, a sworn enemy. _That_ is how we _roll._"

Sam watched J.D. with an amused expression and shook his head. "Oh, Dad, if only you knew how much I proved you wrong about that every day."

J.D. pretended to ignore this, at least for now. "So, no, I am _not_ going to try to 'get my revenge' on the Janitor. He's bound to get bored of torturing me one day, and when that day comes, all I will do is —"

**_SNAP!_**

J.D. gave a shout and jumped into the air, clutching his backside. Sam peered around his hollering father to see said Janitor, clutching J.D.'s old shirt in one hand with the other stretched in front of him. "Hah!" he said, cracking the shirt like a whip again. "Bull's eye!"

J.D. adjusted the stethoscope on his neck as he turned to the Janitor, trying valiantly to remain dignified. It was then that he noticed something. "How did you get that side off of your hand?"

The Janitor glanced at said hand nonchalantly. "Eh, I just tore it off." J.D. blanched. "What? I'm fairly certain that I don't need this —" Janitor raised said hand to his face, "— this ... fairly thick layer of skin ... and all the blood behind it."

The Janitor looked back up at J.D. "Do you think I should get a towel? ... Yeah, I should probably get a towel."

* * *

"See, there's your revenge," Sam said after J.D. had gotten Janitor the medical attention he needed and then set off again, not wanting to remain alone with the much larger and scarier man.

"He tore his own skin off his hand. How is that revenge?" J.D. said, exasperated.

Sam shrugged. "You take what you get." He glanced back at the Janitor, who seemed perfectly fine; he was staring at his bandaged hand with an interested look. "It wasn't really that serious, though; you're right. You still need to do something to him." He fiddled with the device in his hands again, turning it over and over.

"What have you been messing with all this time?" J.D. finally asked him, grabbing it away and looking at it.

"Your pager," Sam shrugged. "It's been going off for the last ten minutes, by the way."

J.D. stared at the pager in horror before clipping it back to his belt and sprinting down the hallway, Sam hot on his heels. "Where are you going, Dad?" he called gleefully.


	3. My Breakdown

J.D. skidded to a halt in front of Carla, doubling over and panting hard. In retrospect, it probably hadn't been the best idea to take the stairs because he thought they'd be faster. In fact, J.D. noted, Sam had taken the elevator instead, and had actually arrived before he did.

"There you are, Bambi," Carla said hastily, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. _Something Carla doesn't know about herself is that she's much stronger than she realizes,_ J.D. reflected as a searing pain shot up his arm. _And her fingernails don't tend to help matters._

"What's the problem?" J.D. said, hastily falling into step beside her so that she didn't have to keep hanging onto him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam step out of the elevator and begin to follow the two of them, watching with only a semi-interested look.

"It's Katie," Carla said, "she got here less than half an hour ago and already she's starting to have a breakdown." The two rounded a corner and walked into a patient's room, where they found a very hysterical Katie gesturing wildly and pointing a finger at a patient that appeared to be unconscious.

"No, no, no," Katie was saying, inbetween bouts of hysterical laughter. "You can't have gone back into your coma, Mr. Jackson! I just got you out! Your family's going to be here in two hours, so I need you to wake up again, 'kay? Wake up, Mr. Jackson! I'm not gonna let you be selfish like this! Wake up! _Wake up!_"

"Why exactly did you think I'd be good for handling this?" J.D. whispered to Carla out of the corner of his mouth.

Carla just smirked at him. "You're dating Elliot, aren't you?" she asked, then walked out of the room.

J.D. watched her go with something akin to outraged shock on his face, before another shout of "_Wake up!_" from Katie brought him back to his senses. "Katie," he said, drawing close to her and putting a hand on her shoulder as a sort of restraint. "Katie, calm down."

"No!" Katie said, smiling crazily at J.D. "No, I will not calm down! I've been doing everything I can to get this patient out of his coma, and he keeps slipping back out, and back in, and out, and in, and out and in and out and in and out..." As she spoke, she took more and more breaths inbetween her words, until at last she had nothing left to say and began hyperventilating. J.D. dove out of the room to a nearby nurse's counter (almost running into Sam in the process), grabbed a paper bag and ran back to the room, passing it to Katie. She snatched it away and took several deep breaths into it.

"Look, Katie," J.D. said, sitting her down firmly in a chair and drawing one up in front of her. "Sometimes, with patients like this, there's not much you can do to control them. And it's not something you should beat yourself up over; he's getting the correct treatment and he should eventually stop alternating like he is. But you need to keep your overreactions in check."

Katie tried to scoff. "Overreactions? I'm not overreacting." She blew one last breath into the paper bag and it exploded with a loud bang, startling J.D. and causing Sam to burst out laughing from his place beside him.

J.D. glanced up at Sam uneasily before turning back to Katie, speaking softly and reassuringly. "Katie. Everyone here was in your shoes at one point, all right? Don't feel like you have to take this on all by yourself. You can't do this all on your own. You're no Superman."

"What?" Katie said, but J.D. had tilted his head and was staring off into space. _That's catchy, too,_ he reflected, before snapping out of it and looking at Katie again.

"Look, my point is that you can't go around never asking for help. You'll drown." Katie glanced to one side uneasily, avoiding eye contact with J.D. "No one here's going to look down on you for asking your fellow co-workers for guidance. But they _are_ going to look down on you if you keep having these meltdowns." J.D. reached out and patted Katie on the shoulder. "Next time, get someone else before things get too serious, all right?"

Katie sighed, reluctantly. "Yes, Doctor Dorian," she said, standing up, and J.D. followed suit.

"Good," he said. "Now, I've got my own patient to take care of. But you page me if you need anything, okay?"

The look Katie gave him probably meant that she'd page anyone else in the hospital before she paged him, but she just said "Okay", grabbed Mr. Jackson's clipboard, and began to flip through the paperwork on it. J.D. smiled happily — his work here was done — and walked out of the room, Sam following close behind.

"Wow," his son said in a monotone. "That was, like, a really great speech."

"Well, thank you. I do try," J.D. smiled, oblivious.

"You sure do," Sam agreed. "Kinda almost makes me wish you'd ever tried that with me. Ever."

J.D. slowed to a halt, turning toward Sam again, before putting his hands on his temples, frustrated. "Look, you need to stop doing that!" he shouted, attracting a strange look from Dr. Beardface as he walked by.

"Stop doing what?" Sam asked innocently.

"Stop revealing things that make me slow down and talk to you in the middle of the hallway! It's very bad for my health, it makes me look like a complete idiot, and you won't even give me any explanations!" Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're not even here, anyway! I don't know why I'm shouting this!"

"You're shouting it 'cause you're overwhelmed, Daddy-O," Sam smirked. "You may give a pretty speech when it comes to the new interns, but when it comes to practicing what you preach, you fall pretty damn short."

J.D. stepped up right next to Sam, glaring down at him, voice murderous. "Here's the deal. I need to know exactly what it was that made you this way, and what I can do to fix it. Because you obviously won't leave me alone until I do."

"Well, you got that right," Sam said, before continuing to walk down the hallway; J.D. followed. "But I hope you're ready for a long story. The Janitor's about to whip you with a shirt again, by the way."

_**SNAP!**_

"Gaaah!" J.D. shouted, falling again as he clutched his backside. Behind him, the Janitor once again laughed victoriously. As J.D. looked up at him, Sam pointed to the Janitor's other hand, which was now free of the super-glued shirt as well.

"You're going to need more bandages, aren't you," J.D. groaned, getting up.

"I figure anything that keeps you from doing real work is worth it," the Janitor replied. He looked at his newly bloodied hand, then raised it. "High-five?"

* * *

"Carla, I think I'm losing my mind," J.D. said, massaging his forehead as he leaned on the counter at the nurse's station.

"Janitor's finally getting to you, isn't he?" Carla said, pointing at the retreating back of the Janitor, now with two bandaged hands instead of one (both of which seemed to fascinate him). "Knew it'd only be a matter of time."

"No, it's not that," J.D. said. He glanced to his left, where Sam gave him a mock salute, before downing more of the bottle marked "LIQUOR", found it empty, then tossed it against a wall where it shattered. "It's something else."

"And what would that be, exactly?" Carla asked, not looking up from her paperwork.

"Carla ..." J.D. said slowly, "...have you ever, you know, thought you were talking to someone who ... wasn't there? Like, it was their ... spirit or something, and only you could see them? You were, like, their only link to the real world?"

Carla slowly stopped writing, put her pencil down, and took off her glasses. She looked up at J.D., stared at him for a moment ... and then her gaze drifted off to the side.

"Oh, honey, you know if you tell him, it's just gonna encourage him," Laverne scoffed from her place behind J.D. "He's gotta work through this all by his lonesome. And if he can't, well, he can always look to Jesus to help solve his problems, just like I did." Laverne raised her eyebrows at nurse Shirley, who was passing. "Well, now just look at the people they got workin' here today! Disgraceful. Back in my time, we had _quality_ nurses, we sure did."

Carla blinked. "...No," she said, putting her glasses back on and turning back to her paperwork. "...Never felt like that at all, J.D."

J.D. gave her a puzzled stare, looked over his shoulder, saw nothing there, and walked off in confusion.

"You know, I used to wonder why you called her Lavernagain, but I think I know now," Sam said, glancing behind him where Shirley was being followed by Laverne.


End file.
